


Please Say Something

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff [14]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Proposals, Protective Big Brother Mycroft, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5927137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt:</p><p>Mycroft proposes to Lestrade in the most ridiculous, over-the-top way possible.<br/>Bonus points for Sherlock/John in the background. (But we put them right up front!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Say Something

“What does your brother want, Sherlock?” John asked from the door.

“Huh?” The detective turned from the window he'd been staring out of for what felt like forever.

“Well, I'm assuming he's out there, because you've been staring out of the window all afternoon.”

“He wants our help.”

“Tell me there's not another terrorist bombing plot. I really, really don't like those.”

“No, John. It's much worse than that.”

The doctor covered his face with his hand. “I'm not going undercover at a D/s club either. Not after last time.”

“Worse than that.”

“What the... I don't want to know, do I?”

“He wants to propose to Greg, but he doesn't know how.”

“You've deduced that from standing there and staring at his car?”

“No. He's pacing up and down the path outside the door. Always to do with love when clients do that. It's not different with my brother.”

“And what do you mean that's a ‘bad’ thing?”

“He's determined to make it a grand gesture. Something in contrast to his normal understated manner.” Sherlock grimaced. “And I'm afraid we'll end up at ground zero.”

“Look, Sherlock it won't be as bad as that.”

“John, he's been pacing that same piece of concrete for…” he glanced at his watch, “197 minutes.”

“That's over 3 hours!”

“Mmm.”

“This is ridiculous and you just let him! I'm going to get him.”

“No, John, wait.” He paused at the door. “Let me.”

John tried not to let his surprise show and for once it might have worked as Sherlock was so focused on his brother. The doctor listened to the detective go down the stairs and out the front door, then watched him approach Mycroft. They talked for a bit, the government official's worried face smoothing at Sherlock's words, then headed back towards 221.

John headed to the kitchen, but couldn't decide whether they'd need tea or beer. He decided to put the kettle on and pull out three bottles anyway. It would be incredibly weird to watch the British Government drink anything other than the finest scotch around. 

When Mycroft entered the flat, John decided to offer the beer, because the government official was incredibly nervous and it couldn't get much weirder than that. Mycroft took the beer. Okay. That was weirder than that.

Then Sherlock took the other bottle.

“Okay. I um… I need to sit down,” John said as he collapsed in his chair.

The government official chuckled nervously.

John downed half of his bottle before taking a breath. By then, Mycroft had taken a seat on the sofa, of all places, and Sherlock had sat in his own chair. The detective looked from his brother to John and back, his mouth quirked up at the corner in amusement. “This is a turn up, isn't it?”

John shivered at the memory. “Please don't do that.”

“Sorry,” Sherlock mumbled.

The older Holmes frowned. “Did my baby brother just apologise.”

“No!” The detective said quickly.

“Technically, you did, Sherlock.” John's mood had been immediately lightened by Sherlock's denial. It was probably at least part of why the detective had made it. “Anyway, Mycroft, what brings you to Baker Street?”

The government official took a nervous drink of his beer and made a face at the unfamiliar taste. “It's Gregory. I don't know what to do.”

“Yes, you do, Myc,” Sherlock countered. “You want to marry him, yes?”

Mycroft nodded. “Well, since it's now legal…”

“Mycroft, you made it legal.” Sherlock's mouth curled into a smile.

“Well, I did, yes, because I want to marry him.”

“Then ask, brother mine.”

Mycroft shot him a Holmesian glare. “Obviously, I will ask him, but how do I go about it? Asking him out to dinner and proposing over dessert is trite. I'm not dropping the ring in a glass of champagne either. However I propose, it should be done in a manner as special and unique as Gregory, himself.”

Sherlock gawped at him for a moment. “You really love him, don't you?”

Mycroft's gaze flickered to the doctor. “As much as you love him.”

John squirmed uncomfortably under the scrutiny of two Holmeses, even though he wasn't really the topic of discussion.

“In that case, brother dear, you love him more than life itself,” Sherlock noted. “What are the first three things that come to mind when you think of Lestrade?”

“Hold up.” John stood, downed the rest of his beer and paced across the room. He collapsed into Sherlock's lap and snogged him so thoroughly they both forgot Mycroft was in the room until he cleared his throat awkwardly.

When John finally pulled back, Sherlock blinked several times. His brain had gone completely offline as it did every time John kissed him like that. “What was that for?”

“More than life itself, indeed. You're a romantic sod and I love you for it.”

Sherlock actually pouted. “Am not.”

John pinched his cheek between thumb and forefinger, wiggling it about a bit. “You so are. And it's ridiculously cute.”

“Er, excuse me, you two, but we were in the middle of something.” Mycroft's stammering was rather cute too, but John would not say that out loud.

“Oh, yes, right.” Sherlock tried to regain his usual air of disdain, but failed miserably as his cheeks were flushed. “Three things, Mycroft.”

“His smile, his personality and his, um, well, his that.” Now Mycroft was blushing.

John snorted. He wouldn't be able to look Greg in the eye for a week. At least.

“Right, well personality, we'll go with that for now. What does Greg enjoy besides work?”

“The rugby? The pub. And the new restaurant in south London.”

Sherlock glanced at John for help. Rugby wasn't really his thing, but he knew it was John's.

“Well England is hosting the world cup in a few weeks right? Why don't you take him out for an early meal at that restaurant and get tickets for the England-Fiji game? You could propose to him there? And get one of those little golf karts you see when one of the players get injured. He could tour the stadium before, if you'd rather eat after?”

Sherlock interjected, “You're the British Government, Myc, can't you commandeer the entire England squad to propose?”

Sherlock had half expected Mycroft to scoff at such an idea, but he didn't. Instead, the government official's face had lit up with enthusiasm. “That's a spectacular idea.”

“Are you sure, Mycie?” Sherlock asked. “Wouldn't want your little brother being right, now, would you?”

Mycroft’s eyebrow shot up. “If I was going to detest and protest all of your suggestions, Sherlock, I wouldn't have graced you with my presence. Do pay attention.”

John went to take another drink of his beer at those surprising words only to find the bottle was empty. Just one more bottle couldn't hurt. He got up to fetch it.

“Both your and John's presence will be required, of course,” Mycroft commented.

Sherlock scoffed. “What, at the rugby or the wedding? Neither is really my thing.”

John poked his head out the door. “The rugby!”

“Both, of course,” Mycroft stated matter-of-factly. “You'll have to come with us on the tour or Greg will suspect something.”

Sherlock groaned. “No, Myc”

“Shut it, 'Lock,” John said, grinning. He wouldn't miss it for anything. “Of course we'll come.” John looked at Sherlock pointedly. “And we'll enjoy it.”

“You might, I certainly won't,” Sherlock denied.

“And neither will I, brother dear, but we will endure it. Together.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Promise me, Sherlock,” Mycroft requested.

Sherlock swallowed, remembering the last time his brother had uttered those words.

He glanced at him and nodded once. “Promise,” he whispered, much like he had before.

The response he got was vastly different this time though. Before, Mycroft had looked grimly determined and sad. This time, he looked pleased and, well, touched. It made something tight loosen in Sherlock's chest, something that had been coiled for years.

Mycroft winked without John seeing and stood up, clapping his hands.

“You must be really stressed, Myc. You forgot your umbrella,” Sherlock sniped to return the playing field to normal.

Mycroft actually laughed. “I knew you would be more likely to assist me if I 'forgot' it.”

“I bought it for you!”

“You still detest it.”

“Only as much as you detest my Belstaff,” he countered.

“Touché, brother mine.”

“Hold on, you bought his umbrella?” John asked in disbelief.

“Thirtieth birthday, I believe, wasn't it, little bro?”

The detective actually chuckled at that. “He bought my coat. Thirtieth birthday wasn't it, big bro?”

John shook his head. “You two are completely mad, you know that, right?”

Sherlock snorted.

“If we hadn't already known it, John, I assure you, you and Gregory's repeated declarations would have been enough to convince us by now.”

“Greg doesn't call you mad,” Sherlock protested. “He calls you crazy.”

“Same thing, isn't it?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Not at all. Mad has a flair to it. Crazy is boring.”

John snort-giggled and took a small sip of his second beer to compensate. Yes, he loved his mad genius!

“You're boring me now, brother mine, I'll be on my way. And I'll be in touch, John what date's the match?”

“End of September I think. It's hard to follow that sort of thing with him around.” He indicated Sherlock with a tilt of his bottle. Sherlock made a rude sound, causing John to smile. “Speaking of, it wouldn't hurt for both of you to watch a game or two and even learn the rules between now and then.”

Sherlock protested, “John, even you don't know every rule!”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Fair enough. But I know most of them.”

“You always say the ref doesn't even know them all!”

“The ref's not a bloody genius is he? Pretend it's for a case, yeah.”

“You just want a walking rules book so when you think there's been a bad ca...”

John interrupted Sherlock's diatribe with a kiss.

Slightly dazed after that, the detective agreed, “Alright, John.”

Mycroft was leaning back against the wall. “You two are like the Chuckle Brothers.”

Sherlock frowned and John laughed.

“You'll make him watch it, won't you John? It is dreadfully amusing.”

Sherlock stuck his lip out. “So you're going to force me to learn the rugby rules and watch some kids show?”

“There's some hope for him, Mycroft. At least he knows they did kids’ shows. Very successful ones, might I add.” He gave his boyfriend a considering look. “I'll snog you senseless if you watch one without complaining.”

“This is degenerating rather rapidly. I shall take my leave. Sherlock. John. I'll be in touch regarding the plans.”

“Don't bother, Mycroft!” Sherlock called out.

“Bye, bye, little brother.”

John laughed. “You are in so much trouble!”

“What did I do?” The detective pouted.

“You ruined pub night.”

Sherlock gave him a strange look, then a little “oh” of understanding escaped him. “It's not my fault Mycroft is extremely fond of Lestrade's penis.”

“Not helping. At. All.”

“I wasn't trying to be helpful.”

“Bedroom. Now.”

Sherlock grinned and skipped through to the bedroom.

A couple hours later, two very satisfied and exhausted men slipped into the shower. John took his time washing Sherlock's hair, working the shampoo into a thick and luxurious lather. “I'm proud of you, you know.”

“Hmm?” Sherlock purred a question.

“For not teasing your brother about this and actually being helpful.”

“Your fault,” he murmured.

“What?”

“You. You've made me a better person.”

“Only because you wanted to be.”

“For you.”

“This is getting too soppy.”

“I can't believe you are the one to point that out. Can we get out now?”

“Rinse your hair. You're cooking tonight.”

Over the other side of town Mycroft was planning a meal out with Gregory to get him off the scent and told him to meet him there. He'd selected Gregory's favourite restaurant. His boyfriend always complained that it was too posh, but secretly he loved it.

Mycroft was waiting outside when the car that was sent for the DI pulled up. A cigarette in his hand, but not doing anything with it.

“I sincerely hope you weren't about to light that,” Greg commented.

Mycroft looked a bit guilty and disposed of the cigarette. “I was just distracting myself whilst I waited for your arrival.”

Greg stepped close and sniffed, there was a stale scent of smoke, so he opted for a kiss. “Distracting yourself from what?”

“Oh, boredom, you know how it is.”

“You? Bored? I thought that was your brother's forte?”

“It happens to the best of us from time to time. I've even heard you complain of the malady on occasion.”

Greg couldn't deny that fact, but it was a pleasant evening and he was with his boyfriend so he was anything but bored. “Shall we, then, Myc?”

Mycroft held his arm out and the DI pushed his hand through.

With a smile, Greg asked, “What's the special occasion?”

Mycroft smirked to himself. If only his lover knew what he had planned in a few weeks… “No occasion. Just dinner with you. Then again, that's occasion enough.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “That's laying it on a bit thick, Myc.”

“But true nevertheless.” He leant over to kiss Greg as their waiter came over, he obviously didn't mind about Mycroft being gay but even if he did he daren't comment or risk being shipped to Greenland

“Ah, Mr. Holmes, Mr. Lestrade, your orders are already being prepared per your earlier request. And I've brought the champagne you specified. Shall I pour?”

Greg's eyebrow rose at Mycroft's thorough preparations he was up to something, but what? “Mycroft Holmes, what are you up to?” He asked in a hushed voice when their waiter disappeared.

This was going perfectly. “Nothing,” he said honestly. Well, technically it was honestly as nothing was going on now. By the end of the night they would have had a lovely evening and Greg would believe there was nothing going on.

They enjoyed their meal, uninterrupted by either government, police, or Sherlockian crisis. It was one of the more pleasant nights out they had had in quite some time. It was so pleasant that Mycroft ordered a slice of chocolate cake for them to share.

Greg took his lover's hand across the table. “I love these nights out.”

Mycroft smiled warmly. “I know.”

“We'll have to find time to do this more often. It's good to get away from the stress of the office, for both of us. Maybe we could take an entire day off in a few weeks. What do you say, Gregory?”

“And do what exactly?”

“I don't know? It will just be good for a day to ourselves.”

“We have every weekend together.”

“But we don't, do we? There's always some form of crisis, whether it's my brother or terrorists.”

Greg couldn't deny it. “Fair point, but why should that day be any different?”

“I'll put Anthea in charge.”

“And you don't normally?”

“Well, no, I'm always on standby. But on that day I won't be. It'll just be the two of us.”

Greg nodded. “Okay. Sounds good. Actually, it doesn't, it sounds great.”

Mycroft smiled to himself. It would be just the two of them... and John, Sherlock, and the entire England squad. Somehow, Mycroft didn't think Greg would mind when all was said and done, and honestly, he couldn't wait.

It was the day before his day off with Mycroft, his boss hadn't originally let him take it seeing as it was a Friday, but Mycroft had phoned and asked if he appreciated his job. Greg normally frowned on such antics, but he had a feeling that this time it was justified. Something was definitely up, Mycroft was acting entirely too pleased with himself. The DI was finding it difficult not to let his suspicions show - though what he suspected wasn't entirely clear. But, to be honest, just the day with Mycroft would be totally worth it. He had been right, they never had a full day together with no interruptions. Ever.

Greg looked up at a knock on his door to see John standing there. “No, I don't have a case for him. Tell him to go bother Molly. Maybe she has some body parts to entertain him.”

John laughed. “He's at the morgue as we speak. I just wanted to drop this off.” He handed Lestrade a package. It was gift wrapped with a bow. “You can't open it until tomorrow.”

“Why are you giving me a gift it's not my birthday?”

“It's not from me.”

“What?”

John sighed. “Don't worry about it. I'll see you later.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No. Before I dropped Sherlock at the morgue, Mycroft wanted to see us, it's from him.”

Greg grinned. “I bet he was threatening Sherlock, trying to convince him to be a good boy tomorrow.”

“Something like that,” John agreed amicably. He gave a wave and ducked out of the office, leaving Greg to stare at his unopened gift.

Greg awoke the following morning to Mycroft kneeling over him and watching as he came to his senses.

“Open it,” Mycroft said like a kid at Christmas.”

“What? Why? I said to John yesterday, it's not my birthday.”

“It's not a birthday present it's just a loving gift from one boyfriend to the other.”

Greg decided he didn't need further motivation. He ripped into the package sending paper flying everywhere. He got a delighted, but puzzled look on his face when he pulled out not one, but two England rugby shirts, one in white and one in a rich red. “What are these for, Myc?”

“You need something to wear to the game today.”

“Game? The England-Fiji game? You mean the opening game of the home World Cup?”

“I do indeed.”

“But what? Why?”

“Because it's my treat.” He cupped his cheek. “Now go and get dressed.”

“Why? The game isn't until 7.”

“What is it with you and the questions today?”

“It's not exactly been a normal morning in the 5 minutes I've been awake.”

“Fair point. Now, get dressed.”

When Greg emerged from the loo, bathed and clean shaven, it was in the red shirt. Mycroft was surprised, but pleased as the colour looked quite nice on him. “I had assumed you'd wear the white one today.”

Greg laughed. “You're taking me to the game, got me these shirts and you don't know England has to wear their red kit. I love you and your random blind spots of ignorance.” He kissed his boyfriend on the cheek.

“Why do they have to wear the red one? They're playing at Twickenham.”

“Because it's a home ground tournament, not necessarily a home game. England drew away. Seriously though, why are we going now? It's 10 hours away.”

The corner of Mycroft's mouth curled up. “You'll see.” He took the DI by the hand and dragged him towards the door.

Out on the street was a black hummer. The window slid down and John was waving from inside. “It's alright, mate, it's not me driving.” He turned away for a moment and it was clear he had smacked Sherlock on the leg. Grudgingly the detective leant around the doctor and waved too.

“Nope,” Greg declared as he wheeled about. “I'm not getting into a moving battering ram with him driving.” He was smiling even as he said it and let Mycroft redirect him towards the Hummer easily. “I thought I had been promised a day free of your baby brother's antics.”

“Oh trust me Greg, he is in on his best behaviour.” He reached down and grasped Sherlock's cock through his pants. It made the cage he was secured in rattle slightly. “Aren't you, babe?”

Sherlock took a deep breath and nodded.

“No, I need more than a nod, tell me you'll be a good boy.”

Sherlock leaned over and whispered something in John's ear, making the doctor laugh heartily, then he turned and addressed Greg, “I'll behave, but it's because I want this to be the perfect day, not because I'm being blackmailed into it.”

“You're fooling no one brother-mine,” Mycroft said as he climbed in after his DI.

Sherlock frowned and turned back around.

“Where are we going?” Greg asked as Sherlock pulled out into traffic.

“Breakfast first, in Gregory's favourite restaurant,” Mycroft replied.

“Tell me the truth,” Greg quipped, “Am I dying from some rare disease and I'm the only one that doesn't know it?”

“If you are then so am I. Sherlock gave me two team shirts, one red and one white. Then he announced that we were going to the game.” There, John thought, a little bit of deflection to throw Greg off the scent.

The DI barked a laugh. “Then what the hell have we done?”

John laughed too. “No idea. But seeing as Sherlock's involved, we're not about to be taken to our death.”

“Not intentionally, maybe, but I'm not letting him near the pancakes that I intend to order,” noted Greg wryly. “I remember what you said about his penchant for poisoning your food.”

Sherlock objected loudly, “It wasn't poison, per se, it was his coffee and it was just the once!”

“Sherlock you put sugar in it and I thought you were apologising…”

“I kind of did apologise. To be fair to myself, it was the first time I have ever apologised.”

Feeling oddly sentimental, Mycroft tousled his brother's hair from the back seat. “For future reference, apologies work much better if you aren't simultaneously performing an experiment on the apologee.”

“I know that now,” Sherlock acknowledged.

“Do you really?” Mycroft asked.

“John's made me apologise to Greg enough times,” he thought of his cock briefly in its cage. “I think I've definitely perfected it by now.”

The other three men laughed as Sherlock parked the huge behemoth of a vehicle. It was strange how laughter from these three individuals never hurt. If fact, it made him feel warm inside.

“I got it in the space didn't I?!” He growled as he climbed out.

“Aw, little Sherlock's sulking.” John cupped the back of his neck and ruffled his hair.

“I would like to see you park it!” He said in his defence.

“God, no,” Greg exclaimed. “That would mean you would actually have to drive it. We all know how the driving lessons turned out.” He gave a theatrical shudder.

Mycroft held open the restaurant door for the other men. “I actually had a law passed making it illegal for John to obtain a driver's license. I thought it only prudent.”

Sherlock laughed, pulled away from his lover and skipped into the restaurant.

The other three froze, staring, gobsmacked.

“Did he just-” John got cut off.

“Don't, just don't.”

“He did,” Mycroft finished for the doctor. “He skipped.”

The restaurant wasn't particularly posh. In fact is was completely ordinary in appearance, but Greg insisted it served the finest pancakes to be had in all of London. He didn't even wait to be seated before ordering, telling the waitress that he wanted a stack of pancakes 6 inches high with maple syrup and a cup of coffee before his bum even touched his chair. His laugh and winning smile went a long way towards her taking it in stride. As the others were seated, she asked if they needed a moment to look over the menu, but they all copied Greg's order.

John watched his detective and continued to until Sherlock caught his eye.

“What?” Sherlock asked.

“Did you just order food?”

He nodded blankly.

“Without a three hour argument first?”

“Yes. So?”

John held the back of his hand to Sherlock's head. “Are you feeling ok? Why are you… being not you?”

“I'm on my best behaviour.” 

Mycroft's eyebrow rose high enough that it seemed to be chasing his receding hairline.

Greg gave John a pitying look. “I have a feeling you'll be paying for his good behaviour later, mate.”

“Oh no, he'll be paying for misbehaviour that's for sure, isn't it, Trouble?”

The blush that crept up Sherlock's face could only be described as cute. He couldn't work out how to answer. John gave him a peck on the cheek just as their food arrived.

Sherlock was behaving entirely too well and a suspicion was growing in Greg's mind as to why - Sherlock was going to propose to John.

As soon as he laid eyes on his food, though, he didn't care about anything else until a thought grew and grew. He glanced at the large clock on the wall. “Mycroft, what are we doing for the rest of the day?”

“Things.”

“Riiight. Things. Could you be more vague, Babe?” Greg teased.

“Suffice it to say,” Mycroft scooped up a fork full of pancake from his boyfriend's plate, “That you will find it enjoyable.” He popped the bite of pancake into Greg's mouth. “That is, if you ever finish your food.”

Sherlock saw that as an opportunity and folded his arms petulantly.

“Are you going to make me feed you like a baby?” John asked.

A slow smile crept over Sherlock's face and he let his arms fall to his sides.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Me and my big mouth.” He knew what his boyfriend was angling for, not being fed like a baby, but being fed, nonetheless. He scooped up a bite of pancake, gave Sherlock a peck of a kiss, then held the fork to his mouth.

The feeding went on in this fashion for some time before Greg finally said something, “I can't decide if that is incredibly sweet or enormously disturbing.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I can.”

When Sherlock had had enough, he turned his head away.

“Are you done now, little boy?” John teased.

Sherlock pouted.

“Shall we get the bill Mycroft?” Greg asked. Sherlock had been the last to finish.

“Nope,” he grabbed Greg's hand and dragged him to the door.

“God, Myc, don't tell me you bought this place too?” Greg was only half joking.

Mycroft wasn't joking at all when he responded, “Indeed I did.”

They piled back into the Hummer, Greg still shaking his head in pleased disbelief.

“What?” The government official said at the look on his boyfriend's face.

“You bought it? Why?”

“Because you like it. Not really a place I would have used before I met you, but seeing how you love it so much. They know who you are and you have free food whenever you go, so do John and Sherlock.”

Greg and John burst out laughing. They laughed so hard, they had to wipe tears from their eyes.

The doctor placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder. “Endless pancakes for Sherlock... he won't put them out of business anytime soon.”

The detective pulled into traffic. “You, however, will require jumpers in a larger size.”

“You know,” he added. “Picking on the designated driver when we are in probably the largest car in London isn't the best thing to do.”

“Yes, my love,” John replied, leaning over to place a peck on Sherlock's cheek.

Small talk ensued and soon enough the stadium loomed large in front of the Hummer.

Greg looked at Mycroft, puzzled. “Aren't we here a bit early?”

“I would have never have got as far in my job if I was late Gregory, I'm pretty sure it's the same for you.”

Greg narrowed his eyes. “So we're, what, going to sit here for several hours chit chatting.”

“Have you got a problem with that?” Sherlock asked.

“Well…” he glanced at Mycroft who was doing an excellent job of looking disappointed. “No, it's fine,” he said quickly.

Mycroft grinned and swung the door open. He grabbed the DI by the hand and pulled him towards the stadium. John was doing the same with a rather reluctant Sherlock.

“This part is going to be so borrring,” Sherlock whinged.

“Tell you what,” John offered, “When you get bored, squeeze my hand and I'll give you a kiss.”

The detective gave it an immediate squeeze.

John chuckled and kissed him.

“Gregory, wait with John,” Mycroft ordered as he moved up to the counter in the wall.

“What's so secret?” Greg asked.

Mycroft gave him a soft pleading look, a look that Greg was certain had only ever been directed at him. He raised his hands in defeat. “Ok, fine. John, let's go talk about them while they conspire against us.”

The brothers seemed to take forever discussing whatever it was they were discussing. Sherlock came over and squeezed John's hand. He immediately reached up and kissed him. “Bored already, babe?”

he squeezed it again and John laughed. “Oi, you! Only one kiss every five minutes.”

Sherlock pouted. “You failed to specify that at the outset.”

While they bickered, Mycroft took Greg's hand and squeezed. The DI looked down at their joined hands, then back at his boyfriend's face. “What?”

“Well,” Mycroft grinned cheekily, “It seems to work for Sherlock.”

Greg went one further than John had. He lifted Mycroft up and despite having witnesses he would deny the squeal he let free as the DI paced forward to the gate.

“Gregory Lestrade, put me down this instant.” Mycroft's indignation was ruined by his pretty blush and quiet laughter.

“Alright.” Greg set him on his feet, then cupped his face and snogged him thoroughly. Behind them, John made appreciative catcalls.

As soon as Greg released Mycroft, he turned to glare at the doctor. Sherlock, just to get one up on the other pair, picked John up so high, that the older man wrapped his legs around the detective then he leant up to snog him.

A full blown battle of kissing seemed inevitable when Greg pushed his boyfriend up against the gate and started snogging him again. It was only the discreet clearing of a throat from beyond the gate that brought things to a halt.

Mycroft glared over his shoulder. “Problem?” He snarled.

“Oh, Mr. Holmes. No, sir, not at all. I'll um… give you a moment.”

“The sight of you just scares everyone away.”

Mycroft's cold look had melted at the sight of his near-fiancé. Greg of course leant forward to continue his relentless kissing.

Mycroft, breathless, commented, “I don't scare you.”

“Not anymore, Love,” Greg agreed.

“John,” Sherlock complained, “I'm feeling ill.”

“Put me down, then, you prat.”

The detective complied.

The doctor held his hand to his head, much like he had done earlier. “Are you just trying to get out of going in?” He was going to say walking around, but realised it would give too much away to the DI. He pressed his hand to the younger man's crotch.

“Nope. It's the sight of those two kissing that turned my stomach.” He jerked his head towards Mycroft and Greg.

“If you had brain power left to observe them, then you weren't kissing me properly,” John complained. “You'll be making that up to me later.”

Sherlock grinned. “No doubt.”

The man reappeared at the gate. “Ready for that tour now Mr. Holmes?”

Greg turned to the government official. “A tour? Of the stadium? Oh my god!”

Mycroft stared at the tour guide. “Do you have a substitute?” He growled.

“Of course, Mr. Holmes.”

“Then get him and leave! What part of a secret did not compute with your tiny mind?”

Greg didn't bat an eyelash at the man having been dismissed, he just turned and rounded on John. “You knew about this, you wanker!”

“Yes I did and it's been killing me trying to keep the secret.”

“It may kill that man that he didn't manage it,” Sherlock remarked blithely.

“Yes, but your brother wouldn't dream of killing me.”

“Wouldn't I?” Mycroft asked while John tried to work out whether he was being serious or not.

“No you wouldn't,” he said with confidence. “You wouldn't dare upset your baby brother.”

“You're right, John, of course.” Mycroft turned to Greg. “On a different subject, I have obtained the use of one of the six VIP suites that overlook the field. Would you like to see it now or proceed with the tour?”

“You've done what?”

“Only the best, Gregory, you should know this by now.”

Greg and John were both still gawping at Mycroft.

“Brother dear,” Sherlock commented, “You may have permanently broken them.”

John punished him on the arm. “Oi!”

“What?”

“Do you not remember what I have over your head?”

Sherlock thought of his poor trapped cock in its little cage. “Sorry.”

Greg shook off his shock. “Tour first, definitely.”

All this time, the replacement guide had been standing quietly to the side and smiling at their antics. He took the DI's words as his cue to step forward and introduce himself. “We'll start with the home dressing room, shall we?”

Greg and John nodded like toddlers. They seemed transfixed on the guide like he was doing some sort of balloon display.

“I know this is awkward, but can I have a shower in it? Please Myc?” Greg asked.

The guide gave Greg a startled look, then shifted his gaze to Mycroft. What he saw on the government official's face made him stammer out a “Y... yes. I'm sure it'll be fine?” His voice rose on the last word making it a question.

The DI laughed. “I'm just joking, mate. Honest.”

Mycroft's eyes narrowed as he looked his boyfriend up and down. “No, you weren't. You can have a shower in them if you want. John you too.”

There was no other word for it, the doctor tittered, then he gave Greg a high five.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Really, John? You'll probably get athlete's foot.”

John nudged him with his shoulder. “Git.”

“Are you really letting us do this?” John asked.

As they arrived at the dressing room, their guide held the door open for them. There were the usual wooden benches all around the edges, the team shirts individually hung above on a hook. On the bench were shorts, socks, boots and gum shields. It had taken the doctor so long to ask his question as he and the DI had been jumping up and down in glee.

The guide looked nervous and glanced at Mycroft. “Of course,” he said eventually. “And I'm sure I can find some towels.”

The two rugby fans grinned.

Mycroft waited until the guide came back with some towels and the two of them had headed into the expansive space before he spoke again. “Keep this up, and I can ensure you your pay will triple. At least.”

When the water was running and they couldn't be overheard, Sherlock asked his brother, “Are you happy, Mycroft?”

“Happier than I ever thought I could be. And you?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

Mycroft leant against the wall casually. “I would simply like to hear it.”

Sherlock matched his casual position. “Then, yes, Myc, I am happy. What did we ever do to get so lucky? One of us is a coincidence. But both…”

The detective watched his brother as he pondered his answer, the older Holmes shoved his hands into his pockets, something he never did unless he was comfortable with whoever was around him. Sherlock smiled.

“For once, I have no idea what the answer to your question is. I'm just grateful they found us.” Mycroft shook his head. “I can imagine all too well where we would be without them.”

“You, maybe. I'd be fine.”

“Oh really, baby brother?”

“Of course, I've got you, haven't I? I've always had you.”

Mycroft blinked back sudden tears. He'd had no idea Sherlock felt that way. At best, he had thought the old resentments had been buried. To find out that he was appreciated was more than Mycroft had ever hoped for. “You still do, 'Lock. You'll always have me.”

They were so immersed in one another that they didn't notice that both men had returned from the bathroom, fully dressed, back in their rugby shirts, watching them silently. 

Greg cleared his throat. The two brothers straightened at the sound and put less serious smiles on their faces.

“Did you enjoy the shower, Gregory?” Mycroft asked casually.

Greg responded just as casually, not wanting to embarrass the brothers, “Best shower I ever had.” He grinned. “Where to next?”

Mycroft pushed away from the wall and went to take his boyfriend's hand. “Let's find the guide and see about going out to the pitch.”

John had taken it all a lot differently. He had still been staring at Sherlock since Mycroft had taken the DI's hand.

“What?” Sherlock asked defensively.

John couldn't help himself, he gave Sherlock a tight hug. “You finally figured it out. I'm so proud of you.”

“Proud of me? Hold on, figured what out?”

“Oh, Sherlock,” he had stepped back, but he just grabbed him in a hug again, it was the sort that even if he had wanted to he couldn't have pulled free.

Sherlock's look of confusion melted into one of contentment and he rested his head on John's shoulder. Some part of him must have heard Mycroft and Greg's discussion because Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and said, “Sod the pitch. I'm staying right here.”

“You can,” John said, ducking out of the hug. “But I'd rather like to see it before the game thank you.”

Sherlock poked his tongue out and then grasped his hand and squeezed. “It's been 5 minutes. In fact, it's probably been a lot more than that.”

John's grin widened and he proceeded to kiss Sherlock as thoroughly as he deserved. When they finally came up for air, it was to Greg's teasing applause. “Very nice, boys. Now can we go to the ground?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Fine. But you have to kiss him first,” he said with a tilt of the head towards Mycroft.

“That will not be a problem.” Greg grabbed the older man by his tie and pulled him down to kiss him as thoroughly as John and Sherlock had. He was met with the same response; Sherlock clapping.

The guide stuck his head in the locker room hesitantly. “Are we ready to move on with the tour?”

Mycroft answered without releasing Greg's hand. “Yes, please show the way.”

When the pitch was in sight both John and Greg pulled free from their lovers' grasps and raced off before the guide had the chance to prevent them. Another glance at Mycroft told him it would be fruitless to even try.

Greg pulled slightly ahead of John, but the doctor jumped and tackled him to the ground. When they came up, they were laughing and covered in grass stains. Sherlock thought John looked rather fetching.

“Not going to join them, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked.

“Not really my thing, brother dear. How about you?”

“What do you think?”

Sherlock smirked, then looked away, which was a mistake, as he soon found himself being tackled by Mycroft.

John and Greg both rolled to a halt, watching the brothers as they scuffled. Their first thought was one of them had said something to anger the other, but before they could intervene the sound of giggles and chuckles coming from the pair could be heard.

“Greg, mate, just a few years ago, Sherlock called Mycroft his arch enemy. Now look at them.” John pointed in the brothers' direction.

The DI was stood with his head tilted on the side and his hands on his hips. “Just a few years ago, those two quite frankly terrified me: Mycroft, by being all MI5/MI6-ish and Sherlock, by being so bloody reckless.”

The two Holmeses clearly hadn't heard them. Sherlock was on top now, for the first time; Mycroft pinned beneath him. Thinking back, John, nor Greg for that matter, could remember the British Government laughing quite like that.

Wistfully, John commented, “I wish I had this on video.”

Greg nudged him with his left elbow. In his right hand, he had his mobile out recording the whole thing. “And the both of them are completely clueless.”

Finally, Sherlock fell off of Mycroft in a laughing heap of consulting detective. They lay there until their laughter died away. Mycroft looked down at their wrinkled clothes. “What would Mummy say?”

Getting to his feet, Sherlock answered, “That it's about time. Speaking of which...” He looked meaningfully at John and Greg, finally noticing the phone aimed in their direction.

He shot a pointed look at his older brother. “Myc…”

“It's alright, little bro, I've got this.” The older man scrambled to his feet and charged into the DI, his phone going flying through the air as he was tackled to the ground.

John snatched the phone before it could hit the ground and Sherlock stalked towards him. “Love, aren't you forgetting something.” The doctor looked directly at his boyfriend's crotch. “You're meant to be on your best behaviour.”

Sherlock shoulders slumped even as he blushed prettily. “Leave off, Myc. We'll have to let them keep the video.”

Mycroft released Greg's hands and he stood up with a grin. “But, Sherlock-”

“It's not worth it, Myc.”

“If you're talking about what John's got over you, I know, but we can still find a way around this.”

“Mycroft Holmes!” Greg snapped. “That video is adorable and it will not be made to go away. Am I understood?”

The government official gave him a sheepish look. “Yes, Gregory.”

John grabbed Sherlock by the ear. He had been heading towards the DI who now had his phone back. Mycroft's words had obviously made him realise the stakes. The doctor gave his ear a squeeze and a shake. “That video will not be made to go away. Am I understood?”

The exact copying of Greg's words only made Sherlock copy his brother. He ducked his head, as much as he could at least, and murmured, “Yes, John.”

“Good. That's settled, then.” John transferred his grip to his boyfriend's hand and leant in to whisper in his ear, “When is it going to happen? Did Mycroft say?”

Sherlock shrugged. “He wanted the stadium full, wanted the whole team to be here. Wanted to do it in broad daylight, so no one missed it and the whole world would know.”

John sighed, he was getting excited and wanted it to happen now, not later. “How about we go see the suite, then?” he suggested in a louder tone of voice.

Greg looked around at him. “That's an excellent idea. I'd love to kick back and enjoy being pampered for a bit.”

“Who doesn't?” John answered.

“Well, if pampering is what you want, John,” Sherlock went to kiss him and as he was distracted scooped him up into his arms.

Mycroft did the same with Greg.

“Ahem,” the guide cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, sirs, but the gates are opening to the general public. The teams will be arriving soon.”

“Show us to our suite then,” Mycroft ordered.

“Of course.”

The guide led off but neither of the brothers put the other man down.

John complained, “Put me down, you git!” Instead Sherlock hefted him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. The doctor was about to protest further when he caught sight of Sherlock's arse. He distracted himself from his undignified position by giving it a swat.

The detective yelped. “If you want me to drop you, you're going the right way about it.”

“Oh, really?” John started drumming on Sherlock's bum.

John was facing the other way so he didn't see the inside of the suite before Sherlock. The younger man did drop him after the continual tapping. John had a moment to think he really was being dropped before he landed on a soft sofa.

“You... you wanker!” John spluttered.

“Told you I'd drop you,” Sherlock told him smugly.

Before John could come back with a sharp rejoinder, Greg called out, “Bloody hell. John you've got to see this.” He was standing by an enormous window overlooking the stadium.

John grabbed Sherlock's ear again and dragged him over to the window.

The odd fan was beginning to trail in on either side of the ground.

The window was high up and John wouldn't let Sherlock see over the edge so he flailed about indignantly, trying to pull his ear free.

“You know how I feel about you and heights,” John told the squirming detective. “I'll only let go if you promise to stay back.”

Sherlock struggled again, but only received the tightening of the fingers on his ear. “Alright, alright John,” he finally relented.

“Alright, what?”

“I will not attempt to exit through the window. Even if you bore me to death.”

John ignored the snicker that Greg made and gave Sherlock's ear one more tug. “See that you remember.” He let go of his boyfriend's ear and gave him a peck on the cheek. The detective tried to dodge it, but wasn't quick enough. Instead, he raised a hand to his bullied ear and rubbed at it.

“You know, John I had always wondered how you managed to control my brother. Now I know.”

Sherlock threw himself down on the sofa in a strop. John looked at his detective fondly. “And this is how I handle tantrums, Mycroft. Where's the kettle? I'll make tea.”

“No need, John,” Mycroft drawled. “Sherlock. Kettle. You know where it is.”

“Or what?” Sherlock asked petulantly.

His brother gave him a pointed look. “You know what.”

Much to Greg and John's surprise, the detective went and put the kettle on without further complaint.

“Whadya reckon that was about?” Greg asked curiously.

John shook his head. “No idea.” But all the same he glanced at Mycroft to try and find out.

The detective reappeared empty handed.

“Excuse me, baby brother, but you know what's at stake here.”

He looked panicked for a moment, but a waiter appeared behind him with a full tray of mugs. “You never mentioned it was all inclusive, Myc.”

“You should have deduced it baby brother,” Mycroft replied.

Sherlock sniffed as he took a cup of tea and sipped it. He made a face. “Needs sugar.” He held the cup out imperiously towards John. Sighing, the doctor took it off him and dealt with the sugar.

They all sat around drinking tea and chatting to one another. Greg still had no idea that there was more. Before any of them had realised over an hour has passed.

At the knock on the door Mycroft told them to enter.

A blond man poked his head in. “Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

“He means both of us brother dear.”

Grumbling under his breath, Sherlock stood and followed his older brother out into the hall. Outside, the entirety of the England rugby team was waiting.

Mycroft nodded graciously to the coach. “Thank you for taking time to do this. You have no idea how much it means to me.” He gestured to his brother. “To both of us.”

One of the rugby players craned his neck and caught sight of the detective. The player's face lit up. Sherlock complained to Mycroft, “I have a fan.” When he spoke several moved round to see him. “I know you from somewhere, don't I…” Sherlock trailed off at one of the players.

“You got me off of a serial assault charge a few months ago, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock collapsed back into the wall. “Oh, God, that means you're all fans…”

Mycroft produced a very expensive pen and a stack of blank business cards from somewhere and passed them to Sherlock. “For the favour you are doing us, I am sure my brother will be happy to provide each and every one of you with an autograph.”

Sherlock growled low in his throat. “I hate you…”

“No you don't, little brother. No you don't.”

Wearing one of his less fake-looking smiles, Sherlock rapidly signed an autograph for each player and coach. When they tried to make small talk, he looked at Mycroft and said, “Do something!”

Mycroft actually laughed. “I do apologise for my infamous little brother.”

“That's fine,” the captain, Robshaw, said with a smile. “I'm sure it is a full time job.”

Just then a yell sounded from inside the suite. “Mycroft!” yelled out Greg at the same time as John yelled out, “Sherlock!”

“I'll go and get them,” Sherlock said with a lopsided grin. The detective stuck his head in the suite. “John, Greg. There are some gentleman here to see you.”

“What are you talking abo...” John's question fell short when he saw the whole England squad assembled just outside the door.

“Greg come and see,” John encouraged like a hyper child. He jumped up and down on the spot. No more serious captain army surgeon, he was in full on child mode.

When Greg joined him and saw the team, all evidence of the serious DI fled just as fast as the captain army surgeon had. “Well bugger me! I don't believe it!” He slapped John on the back then shoved around him, hand outstretched. The team actually laughed at the pair's antics.

Both Sherlock and Mycroft were leaning back against the wall, watching on in silence and not really understanding their boyfriend's excitement.

When someone cleared their throat behind the rest of the team, the players all split do there was a gap down the middle.

“Oh my god!” John exclaimed. “Johnny!”

The former England captain strolled through the current team and held his hand out. “You must be Greg.” The doctor didn't take the hand or bother to inform him about the wrong name, instead he just grabbed Johnny Wilkinson in a massive bear hug.

Johnny didn't seem to mind. The doctor turned to Greg. “Greg, look, it's Johnny Wilkinson!” Sherlock's eyes rolled dramatically. “He scored the winning 3 points against Australia back in 2003. Drop goal.”

Greg grinned. “Yeah, mate, I know.” He held out his hand for Johnny to shake. “John here's a bit of a fan.”

Johnny looked from Sherlock back to the doctor. “You're John? John Watson, the blogger? His blogger,” he finished pointing at Sherlock.

“That's me.”

“I'd love you to write a piece on the game…”

“He can't,” Sherlock interrupted. “He's taken.”

“Hey!” John chastised.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. “Fine. Mycroft, arrange for one of them to be murdered. I'll solve the case and John can blog about it.”

“He's joking,” John was quick to assure the horrified team.

“No, I'm not.”

“Excuse me,” John offered to the old England captain. At the slight nod of the older man's head the doctor turned around, pushed Sherlock back into the wall and kissed him, just to shut him up.

John broke away, leaving Sherlock breathless. “What do you say, Love?” John asked in a teasing tone.

The detective looked over John's shoulder. “I apologise. I made a joke in bad taste. Of course, John can write about whatever he wants.” This was received with several snickers from the team. Sherlock would have pouted were it not for the kiss his boyfriend placed on his lips.

Johnny glanced at his watch. “Well the boys better go and get warmed up. It was nice meeting you John, you too Greg and of course, both Holmeses.” He clapped his hands and ran back through the team. “Come on girlies, let's go. We'll see you guys after.”

After the team had left, John and Greg faced each other and fell into a fit of giggles.

“Oh. My. God. I can't believe we just met the team. And Johnny!” the doctor wheezed.

Greg ran his fingers through his hair. “I can't believe Sherlock just calmly asked Mycroft to have one of them killed.” A beat passed. “What am I saying? Of course I can!”

“Come on,” Mycroft grabbed Greg's hand and dragged him back into their suite.

“Do they have beer?” Greg asked.

“Of course,” Mycroft replied.

“Good. I want beer.”

“And so do I,” John seconded.

Moments later, four beers appeared. John and Greg gawped as the Holmes brothers each took a bottle and clicked them together.

“To sentiment,” Mycroft offered.

Sherlock got a wicked gleam in his eyes. “And to goldfish.”

“Oi! If I didn't want this beer so badly I would pour it all over you.”

“No you wouldn't.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Because they have nibbles and you love nibbles.”

Trays began to come out of the side door with hundreds of mini sausages and cheese sticks.

Sherlock's pout was ruined when he popped a sausage into his mouth. To counter that, he bit into it savagely.

John looked at the brother's curiously. “Goldfish?”

Mycroft took a long drink of his beer and looked away. Sherlock just chewed with renewed vigour.

“I don't think we really want to know,” Greg observed. “How long until the match starts?”

“About an hour or so,” Mycroft informed him. “Plenty of time for food. And cake.”

Both Greg and John laughed.

They passed the time in idle chatter, John and Greg going on about the team, Johnny and the most memorable parts from past matches. The Holmes brothers suffered it in indulgent silence. They both knew it would be totally worth it for what happened next.

Sherlock had been stationed by the window looking out over the now practically full stadium for the past half an hour waiting. It was another 8 minutes before he turned and said, “The teams are coming.”

Mycroft exchanged knowing looks with his brother as John and Greg approached the window.

“Huh,” John grunted. “It looks like they're performing some publicity stunt - they're carrying cards.”

They all split up, turning to face the VIP suite. They took positions as if they were about to do the Hakka.

“Is this some new England Hakka?” Greg asked.

About that time, the players had gotten themselves lined up and, all together, lifted the cards over their heads. There on the pitch, spelled out for the whole world to see, were the words 'Will you marry me Greg?'

Johnny walked on and held his own card, on it was the simple letter 'M'.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Greg turned to the government official who was pretending not to notice the 20 hefty men on the pitch and had a blush making its way up his face. “Mycroft?” Greg asked.

The government official was biting his lip. He took a deep breath and said, “Will you?”

Greg threw his arms around Mycroft's neck and said, “Yes, of course, yes,” then kissed him thoroughly.

Sherlock, grinning, held a card up to the window that read in large print 'YES'. A collective cheer went up from the crowd and the team broke into a dance on the pitch.

John stared gobsmacked at the players as they began to jump around. “When you said he wanted something extravagant, that's not quite what I had in mind,” John said, a laugh making its way into his voice.

“You knew, you sod!” Greg growled.

John held out his hand and of course the DI shook it. “Of course I did.”

They were both drawn to the window when the crowd had fallen eerily silent. When the team knew they had the suite's attention again the four players holding the word 'Greg' spun them over to reveal 'John' and just as the others Johnny turned his over to reveal 'S'.

John froze in place. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe in order to yell out the yes that was echoing inside his head. The other three men went silent, misinterpreting his lack of reaction.

Sherlock stepped over and looked into John's eyes and saw them full of unshed tears. “John, please say something,” the detective said quietly.

The distress in his boyfriend's voice released John from his paralysis and he blurted out, “Yes, you git,” then he started blubbering like a baby.

The detective let out the biggest sigh of relief he had ever ushered. “I've never loved someone as much as I love you, John,” he murmured. “I couldn't exist without you. Not anymore.”

“You don't have to,” he managed to say through his tears. Sherlock leant down and picked him up in strong arms, holding him tight and perfectly content to never let him go.

While the detective and his blogger/fiancé held one another, Mycroft took Greg's hand and led him to the window. He held up the 'YES' card once again and the reaction was even more spectacular than before.

Greg took the card from Mycroft's hand and tossed it to the side, then he kissed his fiancé.

The game began on the pitch below, unnoticed by either couple for the longest time.


End file.
